


so that their fear is turned into desire

by oheart



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Domestic, F/F, Fix-It, Fluff, Murder Wives, Post-Season/Series 02, in the sense that they ran away together to live weirdly ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oheart/pseuds/oheart
Summary: A little post-canon domesticity. Or as close to that word as these two can get.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 107





	so that their fear is turned into desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queensmooting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensmooting/gifts).



> a gift for queensmooting bc i just think she's neat jpeg
> 
> could be read as pre-relationship or established

Her right hip collided hard against the edge of something in the dark and Eve swallowed a curse. She froze and counted to three, breath coming out fast, listening for sounds in the poorly lit corridor. When none came, she took off running again. Her heartbeat was too loud, too distracting. She had no weapons she could use, no safety measure, nothing to put between them. Eve considered pulling the furniture behind her as she ran through the house, but the urge to stay silent and undetected was stronger than the urge to fight. 

She ran straight by the front hall, turned right towards the stairs. Some long-buried instinct rebelled inside: _Out, out, don’t go further into the house, not that way—_ practice made it easy to ignore that voice and she took the stairs up, two steps at a time, already out of breath. Her sweaty palms slipped on the handrail a couple times, but she didn’t fall; she almost never tripped these days. 

This time, Eve slipped silently into the bathroom. The bedroom was her usual goal – more comfortable in case she had to fight, and in case she lost, too – but changing her own steps was always a good call – it made her unpredictable, hard to catch. Well, hard _er_ to catch. 

She stared hard into the dark room, waiting for her eyes to adjust. The window, she knew, was too narrow to wiggle her body through and the second store fall was too high to be a sane choice. While she considered her options, a gust of summer wind blew into the small bathroom and the rings holding up the shower curtain chimed softly, metal against metal. Eve cursed inwardly and moved quickly to grab the curtain and silence the sound. Her fingers barely brushed the plastic and, in a moment of surrealism, the curtain opened on its own, moving in the opposite direction Eve had intended. 

Time and reality were suspended for a second, as she blinked dumbly at the figure standing inside the tub in front of her, and then both came crashing down at once on her head. The shape stepped efficiently over the rim of the tub, feet clad in combat boots, hair pushed back, literally dressed to kill, and Eve had no time to scream before they were both hitting the bathroom floor. 

It hurt. The tiles were hard and unforgiving, but Eve managed not to hit her head; she had been training how to take a fall, how to roll her body just right to soften the blow – and, sometimes, how to bounce right back. She untangled her legs from her assailant's and pressed her knees against the squirming hips, trying to revert their positions. She wasn’t quick enough, though. She needed more training, more time— 

Painful laughter came forcibly out of her own lips. Her body convulsed as she tried to grab the fingers travelling up and down her sides. 

“What the fuck—what the fuck _are you doing_ —” She shrieked and tried to retaliate with her knees, but she was way past finesse now to do any damage. 

“I’m teaching you,” Villanelle panted above her, wrestling with Eve’s limbs and doing a poor job of hiding her own laughter, “stop moving – I'm teaching you situation awareness!” 

“The fuck you are,” Eve was fully giggling now, more than she had in years, “god, stop, you maniac!” She squirmed on the floor praying, in vain, for mercy from whatever wicked god had taken an interest in her life lately. A golden image of Villanelle sitting on a throne of bones and flowers, the cut of her cheekbones and arch of her eyebrows painting her radiant and cruel, flashed in her mind. The absurdity and truth in that thought only made Eve laugh harder. 

The real Villanelle was grinning openly down at her, shameless in her girlish mirth. “Say I won,” she offered magnanimously, “say I won, and I’ll stop.” 

There was no good reason not to comply; Villanelle had won, after all, and in that moment, Eve would have said or done anything to make the tickling stop. Yet, she resisted, which was doubly stupid, considering that was exactly what Villanelle expected her to do. 

“You cheated,” she had wrestled one arm out of Villanelle’s iron grip, and was doing her best to keep those devilish fingers away from her ribs with it, “you said you would start from the kitchen! You tricked me.” It wasn’t a good argument, since cheating was a regular part of their games, but it was all Eve had in the moment. 

“I did come from the kitchen! It’s not my fault you were too busy stumbling around in the dark to see me coming upstairs,” she interrupted her assault for a moment to pat Eve patronizingly on the cheek. 

Instead of wasting her time trying to decide if the serial killer sitting on her lap was lying or not, Eve took the opportunity to grab Villanelle’s wrist. When she instinctively tried to pull it back, Eve used the momentum to push her torso from the ground, rolling them sideways and finally putting Villanelle under her. 

“I did it! I won!” She cried out without thinking and then again, softer, once it really sunk in: “Holy shit, I _won_?" 

Eve looked down expecting to find a pout or protest forming in Villanelle’s lips. Instead the woman was smiling up at her, unbearably fond. “Technically, I could have killed you in twelve different ways in the past five minutes,” she corrected, “but, yeah, tonight, you won, Eve.” 

Eve felt her chest grow tight at the unrestrained pleasure and pride in that voice and the way she said her name – it wasn’t just the accent, she knew. It was the special way Villanelle said it, like a caress, like it was a term of endearment of its own. 

She tried not to linger on that feeling. God only knew what could happen if she let herself get lost in it. She had already crossed so many lines, broke law and social norms, for that woman, for the raw and painfully honest creature she had awakened inside of Eve. Being with Villanelle made everything, from pain to pleasure, feel realer, more powerful, as if finally awakening from a mind-numbing, life-long sleep. It was both addictive and soothing in ways Eve still wasn’t brave enough to examine too closely. 

But one day she would. And when that day came, she knew, the world would be changed beyond repair and there would be no coming back. Her heart twisted inside her chest in what could easily be fear or anticipation. 

And then the rest of Villanelle’s words brought her back into the present. 

“Seriously? _Twelve_?” Eve scoffed, offended despite herself. 

“Eh, alright, more like ten,” Villanelle allowed, sweet and gleeful as ever.

**Author's Note:**

> title from dante's inferno, canto iii:
> 
> "and ready are they to pass o'er the river,  
> because celestial Justice spurs them on,  
> so that their fear is turned into desire."
> 
> reigninhell on tumblr


End file.
